The Slade Contract
by twistedpremise
Summary: Why would Deathstroke- the world's greatest mercenary- step down into petty supervillainy to become Slade, the villain we know and love to hate from the series? Set in and around the Teen Titans storyline. NOT SLASH/SLADIN. Rated T for now, maybe M if I get any darker later.
1. Chapter 1

It was an exceptionally dark night in an exceptionally dark city. The masonry skyscrapers that defined the massive downtown skyline often kept the city streets shaded even in the heat of day, so on a night like tonight only the bravest, or most foolish, dared the shadows of the alleys and side-streets with their presence. Within the shadows can be found every extreme of unsavory behavior, from simple muggings to the most heinous of organized crime. Because of this, entire neighborhoods of mid-rise industrial buildings become ghost towns after sundown, and not even the allure of time-and-a-half pay can draw citizens to staff a night shift. It is in one of these neighborhoods of bland, industrial no-mans-land that a single tower stands over its neighbors, rising a simple but significant five stories above its neighbors, the watchtower for a six-block radius. Despite the lack of superstructures to shade it, the simple flat roof was in fact layered with shadows from the various billboards and antennae that suggested this as either a weather station or media building. Regardless of purpose, the result was the same: near-total darkness in patches, no vantage points around, zero accessibility, and only a weak shaft of moonlight escaping through the thick cloud cover, revealing a patch of gravel near the center of the roof. A slight breeze drifted a few dust motes through into the light, and back out of it, without a sound.

No sound that is, until footsteps crunching the gravel resounded. It was impossible to tell from which direction they began, but the strong, sure pattern with which they landed left no doubt that they belonged to a figure unashamed of his presence in this unorthodox environment. Briskly, but without rush, a figure emerged from the darkness, stopping at the edge of the moon's faint presence. Or rather, half a figure emerged. Truly, only the outline of a man muscled like a MMA champion, garbed in almost all black could be seen, with various protrusions from his figure that suggested a diverse array of armaments. All that could be certain from his appearance was his face, or lack thereof. The figure had half a face, entirely orange, with one lens covering his left eye. There was no lens for his right. He stood at military ease, ready to move yet completely relaxed, before he spoke as if to no one, yet assured he'd be heard.

"I trust this encounter will be more… civil… than our previous?"

His voice was smooth, slightly higher than his build suggested, but rang with the assurance of a blade resting on a wooden display.

"I have an offer for you" Another voice, this one gruff, aggressive, and brisk, responded.

"Ah, so much for pleasantries," the half-man seemed to casually peruse the shadows before him. "I must say, I suspected a trap, or that the rumors were baseless, until your little… token… arrived at my doorstep. But how, exactly, could you be in need of My services?"I seem to remember our last _conversation_ involving your specific disapproval of my line of work. Had a change of heart, have we?"

"This isn't a contract, this is you picking up a new hobby." The voice called out from nowhere.

The half-man narrowed his gaze. "I don't have _hobbies,_" his voice cooled, like liquid freezing.

In response, an envelope fell at his feet. Thick, the manila letter-package seemed to contain half a ream of paper, at least, judging by the way it slapped the ground when in landed.

He didn't jump in the slightest. His lone eye peaked, as though he were humored at the gesture. "An advance?" he queried.

"Phase one," the shadows answered, "with an overview for phases 2-7, as well. Four million dollars is waiting with your man on 23rd and Pike to cover start-up expenses. Once you are ready to begin, the first half of your payment for phase 1 will be delivered in cash, the remainder upon completion. That pattern will continue for each phase. The schedule, payment breakdown, and completion bonus are on page two."

Begrudgingly, and his eye never leaving the shadows roughly straight and to his right, the half-man crouched down to retrieve the packet. Unfolding the seal without looking, he retrieved the indicated page and purveyed its' contents. His brow rose again in tempered surprise, and he reached back for the page he had skipped: the overview.

"My my," he seemed to chuckle without humor as he reviewed the document. "The rumors of a family dispute must be true, if you're resorting to all this. Wouldn't it be easier to pay me to.."

"Don't even think about completing that thought, _Wilson_" the shadows cut him off in anger. "I don't want him dead, I want him trained." The temper in the voice receded with a slight pause. "He's more like me than he'll admit. He needs a challenge, a white whale to drive him, to spur his development. If he won't take it from me, I have to provide it another way." That seemed to be as much as the shadows would say on the topic.

"Well," the half man seemed content with his overview of the documents, as he tucked them under one arm. "I'll admit, it's hardly my _normal_ sort of activity, but business is a little slow since that Serbia and I have some time in my schedule. I'll expect you to keep any unwanted attention from outside crusaders out of the scene, of course."

"Of course."

"And I won't have you breathing down my neck about… _collateral damage…_ will I?" Because as much as you _abhor_ that sort of thing, it will be inevitable…"

"There's a penalty for each civilian casualty." The voice seemed proud of itself with having anticipated this concern. "I know you'll do your best to avoid losing your payment unnecessarily."

"Of course." The half-man's voice cooled, as though his package in the mail had arrived without batteries. "If that will be all," he turned to leave.

"I mean it, Wilson" the shadow stopped him. "He has a team, now. Meta's, young but with potential. Any one of them gets damaged beyond repair and you answer to me and my colleagues. And you should pray they find you before I do if you do anything to him."

The clear threat, and the gravity behind it would have sent any normal person home to cry under their bedsheets with the lights on. The half man only seemed to roll his eye.

"Of course. Oh, and by the way," he reached into a pocket on his left bicep and withdrew a small object. "Next time you need to contact me, leave this same token with my man on your gardening crew. No need to run all the way to 23rd on my account," and he hurled the small black shape directly into the darkest corner of the rooftop.

A gauntleted hand shot out from the shadow to snag the projectile mid-flight. By the time the recipient looked back, the half-man was gone. Without a word, he ensured that the black metal was not damaged or modified and stuck it into the utility belt around his waist. He rose to leave, cape brushing the gravel as he turned.

It was a dark night in Gotham, and the Batman had more business than usual to attend to, now that his partner had left for Jump City.


	2. Phase I- Exercise Regimen

Thanks for the Reviews, guys, definitely helped crank this chapter out a little faster. It's a little slow, but I like dual conclusions it reaches.

TheFoolOnMelancholyHill: I appreciate the advice, I'll try and keep things a little simpler. That last chapter was a little wordy, I admit, but what can I say? I'm a verbose guy. Hope you Like this next chapter.

Xbakiyalo: Thanks, I got shivers writing it, so I'm glad my excitement carries through to your experience.

And now, without further ado: Chapter 2: Phase One

There's a fantastic little spot in the mountains on the edge of Jump city, a panoramic view of downtown and the bay. It's a spot frequented by hikers, young lovers, and photographers alike, each attracted for various reasons. Hikers enjoy the hour-long uphill climb, and the opportunity to take a breather on their way up higher in the ridge. Young lovers enjoy the seclusion, as there are rarely any more than two people willing to brave the winding path, especially if the path is going to be dark on the way back. Photographers, finally, enjoy the nature around the trails and the expressive pictures that can capture forested mountains, dramatic downtown skyscrapers, and the ocean bay all at the same time. All that being said, the spot is something of a local secret, off the beaten trail and completely inconspicuous, so the out-of-towner needs to be particularly in-the-know to reach this little oasis from the big city. Factor in the fact that it's almost dusk on a Tuesday in November, and there's no reason to expect anyone to be ascending the unkempt trail.

Just when the sun touches the horizon over the water, however, one figure emerges from the narrow gap in the trees, standing up from a slightly hunched climbing posture. It's a little difficult to make out until he walks out into the clearing a bit, but this is no ordinary hiker. The gentleman in the clearing seems entirely out of context: wearing a thin-striped suit with jacket, his grey hair and thin fingers would suggest a man who curates WWII memorabilia, or answers the door at a stately manor. Despite appearing to be in his sixties, he does not appear winded from his climb, nor do his leather shoes reveal any ear or scuffing, as though they were fresh out of a velvet-lined box. He withdraws a pocket-watch from his lapel, checks it, nods as if satisfied with its result, and replaces it, folding his hands in front of him as he faces the sunset across the bay.

"Exactly on time as always, Billy," the half-man comments from two paces behind him.

William Wintergreen, known only as Billy by a select few, smiles but does not startle or turn at the sudden appearance of a noted mercenary. "It has been quite a while since you last called on my services, my friend. If something is so significant as to be called halfway across the world, it is most likely due proper punctuality." His accent was British, the kind that exudes high-society class.

"Nothing so urgent, actually," came the response, smooth but laced with good humor. "It is, however, a longer-term arrangement, and you know how loathe I am with the logistics of such ordeals."

"I see," the older man nodded. "You need someone to oversee the long-term logistics. Safehouses, resource procurement, and the like."

"There's no one else I trust for this."

"You could just say you missed me, you know." With this, Bill Wintergreen seemed to pause, reflecting, his conversation partner finding nothing to say. Finally, he chuckled. "What, may I ask, is our objective here?"

"For now, establishing a base of operations and reconnaissance. I'll need you to find something subtle for now, with a… Lair… for the future."

Wintergreen raised an eyebrow at this. "A lair?"

At this, the masked man chuckled. "I know, not my normal request. A necessary evil, as you will, for the part I must play in this town."

"Indeed, this is one of your stranger requests, but if Budapest is any indication, you have your reasons. Just don't expect me to do any dusting." He straightened his jacket, sensing an end to the conversation. "I'll begin contacting some of the informal markets, see about a base of operations and your _lair_. What, may I ask, do you intend to do while I shop?"

"What any professional does when moving cities," the masked man replies as his gaze narrows on a odd-looking structure under construction, framed on an island in the bay. "Get to know the neighbors."

A siren goes off in the distance, the cadence indicating a pair of police cars. "And possibly make some new friends."

A week later, Mr. Wintergreen exited a taxi and made his way to the front door of a small two-story bungalow on the edge of downtown Jump City. It wasn't the nicest neighborhood, but it was affluent enough that the neighbors didn't have large dogs, which were sure to bark at mysterious arrivals late at night. Locking the door behind him, he called out to the windowless den in the back of the house, "I'm back."

Getting no response, he made his way down the hall, guided by a color-shifting light indicative of a television screen. Or rather, several screens, as he realized when he reached the doorway. The sight that greeted him was a bizarre one: a half-naked and heavily scarred man at the peak of physical condition holding himself in an "iron T" form from two bars mounted projecting from the wall. That in itself was not so bizarre, but the man (who wore no mask, but was turned such only the left side of his face was visible) had his gaze fixated on not one, not two, not even five, but eight laptops and budget televisions, each streaming a different video recording.

In the first, a young woman with orange skin carries a shawl-wrapped old woman out of a burning building… by flying. In the second, a young African-American who seemed to be predominately blue metal practiced shooting clay targets with… his arm? Wintergreen would never get used to how much technology had changed in his lifetime. His attention shifted to the third and fourth screens, which depicted a cloaked figure projecting black energy to lift a Mercedez-Benz and a green figure (Possibly alien?) who seemed to take on the appearance of an elephant at will. Both of these scenes seemed part of the same video, a confrontation with an unknown figure with a penchant for loud music. Finally, the second row seemed entirely composed of videos of the same person: albeit in very different scenarios.

Fighting alleyway muggers, armed security guards, and _musclemen dressed as clowns?_ A boy in a domino mask seemed to defy gravity with a combination of acrobatics and martial arts. In the final screen, gothic architecture gave way to downtown Jump City, and he rallied his way through a squad of either mutants or extraterrestrials. _The world has become a strange place, indeed_, Wintergreen mused, as he coughed to announce his presence.

"The neighbors in the news, I presume."

"Indeed," the man now known as Deathstroke mused as he dismounted his gymnast position. "And our new friends," he added as he tapped into one of the laptops. Abruptly, the screens changed their clips, now showing a new collection of unusual individuals. A boy with the body of a toddler typed away at a computer screen, a Bodybuilder of a teenage boy lifting weights, a one-eyed teen with stick-thin limbs in a research laboratory, a girl with angel wings, a girl with pink hair?... the diversity seemed immense. Not all seemed to be doing anything remarkable, but more than a few appeared to be either homeless or in foster care. "Like our neighbors, they're all raw, but there is potential here…"

"Surely you can't mean to tutor them all?"

"No. They need training and organization, but that's not my role, and even if I were to try, it would bring far too much attention to myself. No, these children need a school…"

"And a school requires a principal and teachers." Wintergreen completed the thought for him. "Leave that to me, I know just the woman. She runs a correctional facility back home specializing in these types of youngsters, but I know she'd prefer another form of instruction. Shall I contact her?"

"Yes, but Wintergreen?"

"Yes?"

"Do not inform her of me," he instructed. "Help her get here, established, and then I'll introduce myself. No need to reveal my presence here or entangle ourselves with these children any more than necessary."

"Very good, sir." Wintergreen nodded, retreating from the room to make a phone call.

When the door shut behind Wintergreen, the mercenary returned his attention to the screens. One in particular caught his attention: grainy video of a thin blonde figure running into a cave. Suddenly, the mouth of the cave collapsed, kicking dust into the air and cracking the camera lens. "Interesting," he mused, "I'll have to keep an eye on you." To you or I, the comment could have been passed off as innocuous, but if Wintergreen had been able to hear the slight lilt to his voice at that moment, he would have held a moment of silence for the girl then and there. Nothing good could come of Deathstroke devoting his attentions to you with that tone.

Meanwhile, the half-man withdrew a simple sheet of paper from under a laptop. On it was a to-do list, and with the commencement of the new school for children of potential in this town, he would soon be able to report completion and receive payment for phase one: ensure the target has a consistent exercise regimen.


	3. A New Name

Xbakiyalo- Thanks, I'm working on when/how Blood makes the transition to Headmaster, and how much that should affect the storyline. Also, I loved Wintergreen as a lens: a person who could peer into the shadows and mystery about Slade while perceiving more than just about anyone else… and live to tell us about it. He gets a great bit at the end of this chapter, hope you like it.

Anon- I completely agree, villains are often much more interesting than their hero counterparts, so I'm honored that people are enjoying my rendition of an often overlooked villain's role. Thanks for all the background info, too. Idk if I'll be able to work with it all in here since I'm mostly sticking to the plot line of the show, but if you've got any more for me, I'd love to hear it, the more I know the more I can work with.

Guest- You know who you are- Thanks! I hope to, probably keep a pace of two-four chapters a week.

TheFoolOnMelancholyHill- What? Someone else has my awesome premise? I created an account for this and everything! Lol, let me know what it's called, I'll go scope out my competition, maybe he and I can bounce ideas off each other so we don't end up replicating the same stuff too much.

Anyway, on with the Story! This takes place about a week before "Final Exam," where the Hive meet Slade and he tasks them to "destroy the Teen Titans." There'll probably be one chapter between this and the big battle from that episode. Also, for everyone who liked the Bat VS Deathstroke chapter, look for some of that coming again soon!

It was a cloudy day in Jump City, as an old man in a peacoat exited his taxi at the corner of Fifth and Sycamore. He wrapped jacket around himself not for the chill but for the wind, hiding his impeccable suit from the driver. Not that there was anything wrong with a suit, of course, but people tend to remember things that are unusual, and while there's certainly a great number of things more unusual than an old man wearing a suit in a rough industrial part of town at dusk, there's no reason to attract any more attention than necessary. Especially when you're working with Deathstroke.

As the taxi driver sped away, Wintergreen checked for wandering eyes, found none, and began a seemingly random path that caused him to double back twice, pass through three alleys, and overall indicate no predictability as to his destination. Except for his consistent, almost-too-casual stride, one might think that he was lost, or perhaps unaware of his surroundings. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. He knew exactly where he was going, had been there precisely once a week for the past six months since he had moved to this city, sometimes by bus, sometimes by taxi, but never taking the same route twice.

Only once he was satisfied he had no pursuers or watchful eyes did he pause in front of a nondescript, grey door of an equally nondescript brick building, enter a 9-digit code on the numeric keypad, and let himself in, closing the door firmly behind him.

Wintergreen was a careful man, not even Deathstroke new the location of his new "lair" yet, and likely wouldn't until he returned from a contract in Zimbabwe.

"An old steel factory. Excellent choice, Billy." Wintergreen almost jumped. Almost.

Shaking his head with a slight grin, Wintergreen flipped the switch for the old lights, letting them flicker on slowly. "Thank you, sir, I trust the job went smoothly?" He didn't bother asking how the mercenary knew about the location of the building, or how he got in.

"Of course. It's amazing how easy it is to gather information these days" the mercenary mused. "Used to be the hard part was knowing when to be where. Now it's getting the client to actually hand over the money."

The lights had fully engaged by now, but there were still too many shadows for Wntergreen to find his old comrade. "Well, it doesn't seem that stealth is too much of a concern, at least" Wintergreen quipped, half wondering if his old friend enjoyed the act of sneaking up on him out of sheer sport.

"No, that's actually gotten easier over time, as well, if you practice." Well, there was Wintergreen's answer.

Deciding to end the game, Wintergreen withdrew from his jacket a manila folder, and set it in a bright spot on a metal table. "I have the latest 'class marks,' if you're interested in them. The Headmistress has reported a 90% enrollment rate of all prospective students approached, 95% among the ones you identified. Only two have attempted to leave, and were redirected to an institution for children requiring psychological treatment. She's even identified early top performers, and formed them into a unit."

A clatter sounded from behind him, and by the time Wintergreen recognized his mistake and returned his gaze to the table, the envelope was gone.

Rolling his eyes, Wintergreen abandoned the table, oiling old machinery as he progressed through the factory. "I likewise suggested that part of her class assignment be practical, and the Teen Titans have found themselves engaged with quite a number of skirmishes, most precipitated by a minor robbery or public disturbance. Kids these days seem quite adept at those, anyway."

"Are the Titans aware of the larger organization behind these disturbances?"

"No. None of the students have identified themselves as part of the Hive Academy for Extraordinary Young People."

"The Hive Academy?"

"Precisely. The Headmistress's idea, I'm afraid, I was hoping for something a bit more intimidating myself. Perhaps Death's Strokes, or do you think that would be too over-the-top?" Wintergreen resisted a smirk.

"I think we're ready," the voice returned with a tone that suggested that Wintergreen might be getting flipped off, and applauded at the same time.

"Ready for?..." Wintergreen paused. He didn't know anything of the timeline, but his friend had only just returned to the country. Surely he wasn't going to engage the children so early?

"To make our introduction, of course" the shadows responded, a smooth iciness creeping into the humor. "Contact the Headmistress, tell her I'd like to hire her best students for a lucrative contract, and arrange a meeting here early next week."

"Of course, sir," Wintergreen had finished his maintenance at this point, and flipped a rather large switch to set the gears and pistons of the old steel mill in motion. He raised his voice over the din "And what, exactly, do you plan to do until then?"

Wintergreen rounded a corner and found himself staring a man with half a mask.

"I'm going to get to know myself a little better" the voice came… from behind him? Before he could turn, Deathstroke emerged from the shadows behind his confused companion and snapped his fingers. Abruptly, the not-Deathstroke crouched, putting one knee down in a deferential posture. Wintergreen heard a slight whir of mechanical components, and recognized this as the prototype Deathstroke had ordered from a factory somewhere in North Africa just before he left.

Wintergreen made his way back to the entrance, already drafting his communiqué to the new Principal of Young Criminals. He wrapping his jacket around him as Deathstroke called out.

"Oh, and Wintergreen? When you contact the Headmistress, don't give her any alias for me. Jump City will know me as…. Slade."

Wintergreen's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He coughed, calculating his response. "Sir, are you certain.."

"Yes Wintergreen, I'm certain. For this job only, Slade will suit my purposes perfectly."

Wintergreen only nodded, a grave look on his face. Only once he had locked the door behind him and stepped out into the rain did he release a breath he did not realize he had been holding. Whether Deathstroke had intended to or not, he had just revealed much more about his endgame than Wintergreen had expected. There were a few constants in the universe, and only a select few individuals could deny them. Wintergreen knew himself to be one of only 3 men in the world who could defy this particular law.

No one knew Deathstroke by his real name and lived.

Wintergreen's shiver had nothing to do with either cold or rain as he began the long walk to the bus stop. The ringing monotone echoed in his head the entire way…

"Jump City will know me as… Slade."


	4. Another dark encounter

Jimmy1201: Nice to see someone appreciating all three of my admittedly eclectic writings. I hadn't thought of the Moriarty comparison, but I suppose that's pretty accurate as far as my writing is working out. Though I hope it's nothing like Sherlock's (the BBC show's) Moriarty. I didn't much care for that version.

anon: Man, you know everything about these universes, don't you?

Xbakiyalo: Yeah, but it's gonna take me a loooong time to reach my ultimate reveal on this one. I just hope I can make it worth the read along the way.

TheFoolOnMelancholyHill: Yeah, this chap's pretty short as well, but I hope to get another one up with the Hive students tomorrow. Consider this a half-chapter in the meantime.

A/N and Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Teen Titans franchise. Not even my epic premise. Also, sorry about the massive delay, I've been caught up in Raven's Howl and work, but I hope to have another chapter to unveil tomorrow! Also, I've discovered I'm a review junkie, so keep the feedback coming!

* * *

There aren't many places darker than the alleys of Gotham City. Among those few places, only one smelled worse, as well. The Dark Knight held a filter over his mouth and nose as he rounded the corner of a Gotham sewer line and found himself facing half a man. Ostensibly, this was Deathstroke the Terminator, but there was something off about his posture. He seemed too thin, too sleek, and he stood with his feet two inches deep in the sludge- a mistake no veteran assassin would make, as it slows response time and produces splash which marks your position.

"I don't have time for banter, what do you want, Wilson?"

"Relax, I'm not particularly inclined to chat any longer than you are," the voice came back with a air of tin, like a cheap speaker. _Of course, _the Batman mused, as he switched to infrared display in his cowl. _Minimal heat signature, this is an android stand-in. _

"Then talk."

"Phase one is underway, and has been for some while. Since I'm entering phase two, I thought I'd collect my payment."

"You mean that string of petty thefts and public disturbances? That's your idea of "daily exercise?" The dark knight growled, "There's no value in that."

"You fail to see the bigger picture. A pity, I thought your network more sophisticated than that." The proxy somehow managed to convey the patronizing tone of its master. "Those miscreants are minor, yes, but they are part of a larger network. A network **I **created. A school, full of young criminals, each studying to challenge your young runaway and his band of merry men. They are raw, yes, but they will form teams, and they will either produce individuals talented enough to challenge the Titans, or provide your 'exercise' through sheer numbers. The ball is rolling, and it's all downhill from here."

"So it's true, the Hive exists. And you lead it?"

"Oh no, my talents lie elsewhere. I've delegated that task. They will serve me on occasion, but as an outside party."

"I see." The dark knight deliberated for a moment. "A handful of teenage semi-metas hardly constitute training for a team of five. Prove this school of yours will at least improve his skills, then we'll talk." He moved to leave, when…

"I'm afraid that's not going to work."

The Batman froze. "You want to repeat that?"

"I don't know what you think your money is purchasing, but it isn't a servant."

"I make the payments, you do as…"

"I have met your requirements, even if you choose not to see it. I have a timetable to keep, and I need the next installment to keep it."

The two figures stared each other down, Batman trusting that there was a camera somewhere in the robots mask to communicate his displeasure.

"Let me put it this way," the android continued. "You're looking for Killer Croc."

"Not looking. Taking him down."

"Of course. Why else would you be here, if not because he's holed up under the meatpacking plant, two blocks from here, picking off workers between shifts?" The mercenary paused for effect. "Now, wouldn't it be a shame if someone sent out a splash pattern informing him of your presence here, allowing him to escape and relocate? After all, it did take you two weeks to find him, and he's **very** familiar with these sewers and their water flows." The smooth voice ended with a distinct chill, even through the speaker.

_Well, that explains why the robot's standing in the sewer water._

Batman weighed his options… "The envelope is under the A/C unit atop the industrial tower on 9th. But Wilson," the microphone picked up the sound of teeth grinding. "If this academy of yours falls through…"

"Of course," The dismissal in the tone spoke volumes. "A pleasure doing business with you, as always."

The robot stood completely still, but thermal imaging showed that the power core had shut down.

Batman moved to pass the android on his way to the meatpacking plant. _Probably best to install my own agent to this Hive Academy, _he mused, _or better, an administration I know. _Batman had many skills, but he did not tolerate unknown variables well. He keyed the mike on his cowl. "Alfred, pull up the information on that young girl in Star City, the one will wings and mental training. And see if you can identify the current location of one Sebastian Blood, I need to establish a new player in Jump."


	5. Divide & Conquer

Okay, here's where it gets good! Thanks, everyone, for sticking it out until now while I set up my story, but now we're actually in-line with the episodes, starting with "Divide and Conquer." There's apparently some debate as to whether this episode comes before or after "Final Exam" (One of my personal favorites), and to be honest I almost decided to ignore this one entirely. See, I'd completely forgotten about it until a few days ago, but this one has Slade at his most ominous and super-villainy, and it really didn't work with what I was going for with this series. I ended up patching the difference, no worries, and I really like how it let me hint at the end-game a bit, so hopefully you like it.  
I'd recommend finding this episode online somewhere and watching it in segments (I indicate in the story where to break it up) in order to get the full experience, since I didn't feel like re-writing every detail of the scenes from the show, but if you know the show well enough, you can probably just read it through. I can't post a link, but I can say that I found it at a site called dubbed-scene, though they switched the labels for the episodes "Divide and Conquer" and "Final Exam."  
As always, I don't own the Teen Titans or anything of their franchise.

* * *

Wintergreen was almost through assembling a wall of monitors in the old steel mill when he heard the truck drive up. _18-wheeler, flatbed, by the sound of it. _He checked his wristwatch, having left his pocketwatch in the jacket hung in the corner. _8 PM, sounds about right for Deaths- Slade. _He shook his head. There was something wrong about using his old friend's first name for this project.

"You've made good time, Billy," the smooth voice observed from behind him.

"One thing about this new technology," Wintergreen conceded, "it's certainly gotten easier to lift and place eighty inches of screen."

He got a chuckle from that one. "It certainly has. Remember the electronics shipment off the coast of Croatia?"

"Dear God, do I ever. Nearly took a bullet for what kids these days would call an antique." Wintergreen loved these rare moments of true levity with his former comrade. He could almost imagine his face, crinkled in laughter, back before…

"Yes, things certainly have changed." The voice seemed to come from a distance, as though Slade's mind were elsewhere before it sobered again. "Leave that for the moment, Wintergreen, I'd like to introduce you to someone."

"You've brought a girl over, have you?" Wintergreen brushed off his hands.

"Not exactly." Deathstr-Slade- led him towards the interior loading bay. "There is an item of personal interest resting in the vault of a Star Labs repository downtown. I cannot risk revealing myself at this stage, not until phase two is complete, and so I recruited some talent to help me retrieve it."

_A change in the plan this early? _Wintergreen's surprise nearly caused him to break stride. _This item must be of particularly special interest. _"Might I inquire as to the nature of this item?"

"Curiosity, Billy." Slade mock-chastised. "Perhaps if this venture is successful, you'll see." The two men stopped in front of a semi-truck, which rocked a bit on its axles. "In the meantime, I need you to deliver our new friend to Jump City Penitentiary, he knows what to do from there. Stay discrete, he'll meet you for transport back here, and I'll continue making preparations for our meeting with the Headmistress while you're out."

Wintergreen nodded, until a loud bang emanated from the storage bay of the semi. Paling a bit, he turned to his secretive (and surprisingly mischievous) companion. "Who, or more precisely, what, is it I am to be delivering, exactly?"

Slade's chin lifted in what Wintergreen could only interpret as a self-satisfied grin. "Cinderblock."

* * *

A/N: Now watch "Divide and Conquer" from the beginning to the waking of Plasmus for best results.

* * *

And _I thought I'd seen everything in the Service, _Wintergreen mused. He watched the slime-creature-Plasmus- and the rock-creature Cinderblock, exit the building, instinctively following their impromptu master's orders. _How does he do that, anyway?_ Wintergreen wondered. _He gives orders, and even the basist of creatures follows them. _He blinked in realization. _And so do I. _

Shaking his head, he turned his attentions to the new pedestal in the center of the room. _That certainly wasn't there when we left, _Wintergreen noted. _He wasn't joking about this being a lair; that looks like a goddamn throne. _"There's something else you should know," he announced, stepping into the spotlight Cinderblock had just vacated.

"Oh?" Slade didn't move from his chair, which irked the old soldier a bit.

"The one called Cyborg and the young leader Robin had a falling-out upon Cinderblock's escape." Wintergreen held military at-ease posture as though to counter the positional relationship between the two men. "It appears that the former has left the team, at least temporarily."

Slade settled back into his chair, staring into the distance.

"If we must delay the meeting next week…"

"No," the hard tone surprised Wintergreen. "No, the timeline cannot be altered. The Titans must be reunited, no matter the cost." He paused, calculating. "Give Cinderblock new instructions. When he begins his downtown assault, he should expect Cyborg. He is to feign combat and allow himself to be captured quickly." He paused, then explained. "We'll provide a coming-home present and facilitate Cyborgs reunion." Wintergreen knew that to most, those few sentences would appear cool and calculating. He knew better. His long-time friend was pissed, and there would probably be more than a few heads rolling as a consequence.

"We could still retrieve the…"

"No." Slade shook his head. "We stick to the plan. We cannot risk the Teen Titans falling apart this early." His voice left no room for questioning. "We have a schedule to keep. Move up the meeting with the Headmistress, I want phase two started as early as possible."

"Yes, sir." Wintergreen nodded, stepping out of the spotlight.

* * *

A/N: Now watch through the middle of the fight with Plasmus, where Slade watches the battle and instructs Cinderblock to begin.

* * *

The new monitors flickered with static as the two men, and one monster, watch four Titans struggle with Plasmus. Slade made a few comments about his disappointment with the young heroes, about expecting a greater challenge, but Wintergreen was less concerned with the words themselves than with the tone behind them. _He sounds calm, patronizingly disappointed, even. _Wintergreen mused. _But the loss of this mystery item isn't something he's going to suppress forever. If it was important enough to initiate all this for, he's going to be livid when it's all over and he doesn't have it._

When Slade sent Cinderblock to initiate the next step, to be captured without retrieving the package, Wintergreen moved as well. Perhaps he would put on some tea, just in case…

* * *

A/N: Okay, now finish the episode.

* * *

As Wintergreen carried the shards of the shattered teacup away, he reflected on the few times he'd ever seen his companion's temper flare like that. _This has to have been more than a simple package… _he was convinced… _but what could have held such personal value that he would swear vengeance for having it denied like this?_

* * *

Alone on the factory floor, the mercenary finally closed his eye. Gently, he reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a sheet of paper and a worn photograph. He unfolded the paper- a printout of an intercepted email between Star labs employees. On it read, simply: "All files as to subject code-name Jericho, will be temporarily housed in Star Labs-Jump City en route to a secure facility in East Asia. Please confirm arrival and departure dates, not to be greater than twenty-four hours apart." Turning his attentions to the photo, gloved hands smoothed the creases over the face of a young boy, likely no older than twelve or thirteen, boarding a train to unknown destination. There was a little fear in his bright green eyes, and although a ball cap blocked most of it, a little blond hair, nearly golden yellow, peaked out around his face.

"I'm sorry, Jericho," the smooth voice cracked. "I couldn't be there for you. But there is still something I can do." He returned both items to his breast pocket and keyed in new displays to the monitors. A series of videos began to run, each depicting another young person around the globe. Young twin boys in red and yellow, a boy seemingly composed of flame, and a Neanderthal jabbing a tree with what appeared to be a large shard of crystal. "If you won't accept me, then perhaps I can provide a new kind of family."


End file.
